


Love's Tales

by TonyPie17



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Alternate Universe - Avatar Fusion, Angst, Bending (Avatar), Death, Destinies, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not to be taken seriously at times, Some Crack, Weird Hobbit Children, fates, life - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonyPie17/pseuds/TonyPie17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are unfinished pieces written in between writing Children of Mine. Some were meant to be kink meme fills, others, just ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Duet

**Author's Note:**

> So this is all the unfinished stuff cluttering up my Chrome book. I appreciate advice to make some better or change them. ^_^

When a person thinks of Death, it is not him. They do not see brilliant gold brown curls, or warm honey brown eyes. They do not see someone rather short nor someone who would prefer to sit and read his books. They do not see a man, young and full of life, nor do they see kindness and smiles. And they most certainly do not see a gold ring upon his finger, simple and innocuous as it was. They see a tall, old, man, possibly with a scythe, with greying hair and many wrinkles. They do not see Bilbo Baggins.

When a person thinks of life, they tend to believe it is the spring time, and in a way, it is. Life is the first breath of a newborn or the unfurling of beautiful flowers with their wondrous petals. It is the awakening of animals after long hibernation and the smiles and laughter that come from going outdoors. It is not dark hair and cool blue eyes, nor is it a hard scowl and deep frown lines. It is not an older man, so set in his ways as he was. It was not Thorin Durin, with his crown of forget-me-nots, frozen in time to never die.

Some of the others say that they were given the wrong jobs each. When they thought neither Bilbo nor Thorin could hear them, they whispered terrible things unbefitting of the fae.

 _“He’s so solemn,”_ they would whisper of Thorin, _“It is amazing he is to embody the essence of life!”_

 _“Much the same, he’s too cheerful,”_  they would say of Bilbo, _“Nothing of death is happy, why does he always smile?”_

None of them understood where Bilbo and Thorin stood. And where they stood was together. Life was incomplete without death, and death was meaningless with life. They complimented each other. Maybe that was what drew them together.

On a cool Summer morning, bordering Autumn, Thorin was walking through a park in the mortal world. He recognized that his time of the year was coming to an end. When Summer was gone, he would only make appearances on occasion; in hospitals and in nature, to coax life out of things that would of course only become prevalent in cold. The thought somehow made him smile. Even in the heart of death, things somehow found life. It was amazing how persistent mortals could be.

And thinking about the mortals was what made Thorin see _him_ , unsuspecting as he was. Thorin had never caught his name before hand, but he knew who he was immediately, as soon as he reached a single hand up and touched one of the green leaves on the tree. It began to change colour instantly, as soon as his fingers brushed against it. He seemed to notice it too, for he quickly coiled away from it, a sadness passing over his face Thorin didn’t think possible on a normal human being.

 _But then again_ , Thorin thought to himself, _He is no mortal._

He was Death.

“What are you doing?” Thorin called to him, his mind coming back to the fact that Death was killing something much before its time. And he most certainly was not happy about that.

The other being startled backwards, knocking into someone. His hands, uncovered and bare, touched the skin of the other person, and the poor woman fell immediately, clutching her chest. Thorin recognized what had happened immediately and rushed over, pulling a pair of white gloves from his own hands and turning the woman over to look at her. He could feel her blood pumping the moment his fingers brushed against her skin.

She began to breathe easy when he touched her. Thorin let out his own breath of relief when she merely fell into sleep. After he had laid her safely onto a bench, he looked back to see where the other being had gone, only to see that he was quickly headed deeper into the wooded area. Upset that he would even _think_ of leaving before explaining himself, Thorin quickly took chase.

“Stop! Come back!” he shouted, but Death continued to run. It wasn’t until he tripped that Thorin was able to catch up and pin him down. And Thorin was stunned by him.

Mortal artist often said that death itself was a form of art, of beauty. Thorin thought those humans crazy. Nothing about death could be beautiful. But the physical embodiment of death was indeed beautiful. He was not what Thorin often thought of when he thought of death (and he did think of death very often, being the creator of life as he was. There were times when he thought of when his creations would die). He was soft, young, full of _life_ , with curly brown hair and vibrant brown eyes. Thorin doesn’t understand why he’s blinking back tears.

“Let me go,” he demands, struggling against Thorin, but Thorin keeps a tight grip on him.

“What is Death doing killing things before their time?” Thorin asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“That is none of _your_ concern.” The other being wiggled again. “And my name is most _certainly not_ ‘Death’ no matter what mortals say.”

Thorin continued to stare at him, his curiosity peaked by the way the other glared up at him, clearly upset.

“If you don’t let me go I’ll be forced to kill you.”

That makes Thorin huff an unamused laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

And really, it was a risk to be _taunting_  Death. Thorin knew his sister would have slapped him had she been there, but she wasn’t, and Thorin wasn’t being told what to do. He prepared for the worst when the other managed to grab his wrist, and he’s thinking maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to challenge the other to.

Until nothing happens.

The curly haired being is shocked to see Thorin still holding him down, still strong, still breathing, and it dawns on the other just who Thorin might be.

“Life,” he breathes, shocked.

“That is not my name, just as Death is not yours,” Thorin chuckled, suddenly amused.

“Let me up.” Thorin rose an eyebrow and the other scoffs. “I’m not going to run.”

Thorin doesn’t trust that, but he sits up anyway, letting the other go. He’s confused when the smaller being grabs at his hand, touching him and looking awed.

“You haven’t died,” he stated obviously.

“Well what do you expect?” Thorin snorts.

“Look around you! _Everything_ I touch dies,” the other gestured to the patch of earth about them, turned brown in death. “But you… You don’t even pale.”

He seems fascinated.

“What is your name?” he asks abruptly, startling Thorin. Thorin clears his throat a bit.

“Thorin. Your own?”

“Bilbo,” the other smiles softly. “My name is Bilbo.”

[][][][][]

When they next meet again, after their first encounter, Thorin is surprised. Bilbo is sitting in a tiny cafe, hands covered in black gloves clearly spun from the material of an ancient creature. Thorin knew because his own were made from the same material. Feeling the impulse to speak to Bilbo after their last encounter, Thorin entered the cafe and went over to the other being. Bilbo looks surprised to see him, but smiles a bit when Thorin sits down.

“Oh hello,” he greeted.

Thorin nodded his own head. “Do you often find yourself wandering the mortal world?”

Bilbo glanced out the window, at the trees with their leaves that were finally beginning to turn yellow and orange, and then shook his head.

“There are often weeks,” he starts, “I’ll go without leaving my own home. And then I’ll get the sudden impulse to be amongst people. Living, breathing, things, mortals are.”

Thorin feels his lip twitch with the urge to smile. “Indeed they are.”

“It’s a shame when they can no longer take breath.” Bilbo sighs. He looks down into his cup of tea. “It never _feels_ right, taking the life of a mortal. They’ve such vibrance.”

Thorin watches as Bilbo’s face turns sour suddenly. “And then there are the ones who believe they can merely take the lives of each other. Not a single one of them has any right.”

“And you do?” Thorin asks, his own expression somewhat hard. Bilbo looks at him, and huffs.

“I’ve the only right, you know. This is my very purpose. For someone to make the attempt themselves is insulting,” Bilbo snorts. Thorin shakes his head.

“How do you think I feel when Death himself kills something before its time?” he inquired, his mouth quirking up again. Bilbo turns a slight pink colour, smiling and shaking his head.

“Millennia, we have walked this planet. How is it we’ve only recently met?” he asked.

Thorin stared at Bilbo, brow furrowed, prepared to answer when he realized that he actually had no idea how they hadn’t met. Life and death went hand in hand, so why was it they had never seen each other once before?

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” Thorin replied, humming. Bilbo’s smile grew.

“Maybe this means something. Maybe… Maybe we weren’t to meet until now. Are you familiar with Gandalf Grey?”

Thorin snorted. “We’ve met a time or two.”

Yes, Thorin was more than familiar with Fate. _Nothing is coincidence,_ Gandalf would say, and scowl a bit, _No matter what Saruman might think._

“Maybe he plays a role in this,” Bilbo mentioned. Thorin shrugged, feeling it more than likely that Gandalf did have something to do with them meeting.

“Possibly.”

The rest of their time together passes in amicable conversation. It’s amazing how much they thought they knew about each other. Like the name mishap, they each found out something interesting. Contrary to popular belief, Bilbo didn’t make it a point of being cruel; he often tried his hardest to make dying as painless as possible for most people and he _never_ took people before their time. Thorin, bringer of life, wasn’t overly fond of the Spring (the season of new life); he himself had allergies that became irritated by pollin just as mortals did.

When their time together came to an end, they planned to meet again, interested in one another, and so began the fateful meetings of Life and Death.

[][][][][]

Thorin frowned, holding the apple (the simplest living object he could create) in his hands, waiting for Bilbo to take it. Bilbo, hesitant, looked up at Thorin once again, ready to voice his uncerties about their experiment.

“Take it,” Thorin insisted immediately, before Bilbo could try to wiggle his way out.

Bilbo sighed and then picked up the apple in his ungloved hands. Immediately it began to decay, and Bilbo quickly handed it back to Thorin for him to bring it back to life. As soon as Thorin touched it began to return to it’s reddish hue.

“I told you,” Bilbo stated. He went to pull his gloves back on. “Everything I touch _dies_ , Thorin.”

“I didn’t.”

Bilbo paused, looking up at Thorin, his right glove pulled up onto his wrist and poised to grab the other. He stopped suddenly, walking over to the other being. Thorin stood with a perfectly neutral expression on his face as Bilbo reached a smaller hand up hesitantly, gently touching Thorin’s cheek. Thorin didn’t immediately fall to the floor, lifeless. Instead, the warmth from Thorin’s skin seeped into Bilbo’s cool hands.

Thorin reached his own hand up to take Bilbo’s wrist and pull it away slowly. His eyes were lidded, and Bilbo felt a pink tinge his cheeks as Thorin stared into his honey brown eyes with his own icy blue ones. They were like that for a moment, too close and touching, until Bilbo suddenly broke away a beat later.

“I-I have to go,” he stuttered out.

“Of course,” Thorin coughed. He watched as Bilbo hastily grabbed his things to leave Thorin’s apartment. Thorin watched him go, and it wasn’t until after Bilbo had rushed out the door that Thorin noticed the black glove Bilbo had left behind.

[][][][][]

He’d touched his cat by accident.

In Bilbo’s haste to leave, he’d left one of his gloves behind. The left one was still on Thorin’s coffee table, he was sure of it, innocently laying and not covering his hand. Bilbo hadn’t noticed until he gotten home and was greeted by his cat, Smaug. The creature had purred and wrapped itself around Bilbo’s legs, and Bilbo had leaned down to pet him, as per usual. With his left hand.

Bilbo only noticed that he wasn’t wearing his glove when Smaug had pushed into his touch, and he’d been able to gently rub his hand over Smaug’s head without Smaug dropping dead immediately.

“What…?” he frowned, before quickly retracting his hand. Smaug mewed in protest, before stalking away. Bilbo, for the moment distracted, went running to his bookcase. He reached up with a shaky hand and pulled a book from the towering shelf. He was able to open it with his left hand and flip through a few of the pages before they began to decay. As soon as he saw the white pages yellowing, he immediately dropped the book, and looked at his hand.

He needed to talk to Thorin.


	2. Magic Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Kink Meme Fill that was never completed.

When he finds out, it’s because he and Bofur or sitting together and talking. Well, laughing more like, because Bofur’s told a joke that Bilbo finally understands and really it’s hilarious but he pretends to be offended a bit (even though he’s not). So when it happens, it’s because he was being _playful_. He had reached over and pulled at the little hair on Bofur’s chin and accidentally brushed his fingers on the spot beneath said chin. And then Bofur’s eyes had gone wide and he’d collapsed into Bilbo’s lap and by Yavanna’s tit he had started _purring_.

Terrified he’d somehow broken the Dwarf, Bilbo had called for Gandalf’s help, only to have Gandalf chuckle and shake his head.

“He’s fine, Bilbo. You’ve simply found his… soft place if you will. All Dwarves have it,” he explained.

“What? I don’t-” but then Gandalf was reaching over himself, tickling just under Bofur’s chin and Bofur seemed to melt into Bilbo’s lap.

“It’s the same with all of them,” Gandalf said now, and Bilbo thought it curious and couldn’t help asking his next set of questions.

“All of them? They all have it? In the same spot?” he inquired. Gandalf nodded his head, and Bilbo felt a wicked little smile grace his features, though it was gone before Gandalf even noticed it.

Armed with the new knowledge, he pretended to not have any clue and allowed Bofur to believe that it had simply been a lapse of sanity on his part.

Until the great and brave leader of their company spoke ill of him again. Already tired and partially upset at having ruined _another_ of his waist coats, Bilbo didn’t even hesitate to step into Thorin’s personal space and bring his fingers to the spot beneath his chin and wiggle his fingers. Thorin dropped almost immediately and with a loud “whump.” Satisfied at what he’d done, Bilbo turned on his heel and headed away, leaving the other Dwarves staring wide eyed at the great Thorin Oakenshield, who they can hear purring his little heart out.

It doesn’t even matter how Bilbo found out. All they know is that Bilbo is quick and quiet on his feet, had small and nimble hands, and now knows one of their weaknesses. And it’s a _collective_ weakness, as they all have it, and if they’re not careful Bilbo could probably use it against them. At any point in time.

That’s not to say that when it happens it isn’t partially appreciated though. After the first time, Bofur had felt more relaxed and at ease than he had in ages, and the feeling is absolutely beautiful. Thorin went and apologized, _actually apologized!_ , to Bilbo for what he’d said after Bilbo had gotten him. The feeling that had followed was like having his entire body massaged and he’d been more loose and limber than he had since the Quest started. That didn’t mean, though, that when Bilbo _had_ done it it hadn’t been embarrassing and just a little bit degrading.

So now most of the company makes it a point to not anger Bilbo too much, for two different reasons.

One, Bilbo most certainly believes in revenge and will go for someone when they least expect it. Dwalin learned this the hard way when he commented on Bilbo’s need to rest a bit after riding for so long. It was nearly two days later and Dwalin was helping Bilbo get his things down from his horse when Bilbo had casually reached up and then the large Dwarf slumped over onto Myrtle, as relaxed as if his bones had been removed from his body.

And two, Bilbo didn’t always use this as a weakness against them. There were times when he used it as a reward; when Ori had given him a book on Elven culture (that Thorin had given him a mutinous look for having) Bilbo had sat him down and started to gently stroke beneath his chin. Ori had leaned on him and purred gently while Bilbo told him children’s stories from the Shire. It had been a very wonderful reward, and most of the other Dwarves (in particular Fili, Kili, and, surprisingly, Oin) liked the idea of the reward itself. Bilbo had soft Hobbit hands; they were practically _magic_ when they went to work.

Bilbo even somehow used that to his advantage. When the Dwarves did idiotic things he adamantly refused to help any of them relax, especially after a long day and they needed the wind down. If they were gonna act like Oliphaunt shite then they were gonna be tense and deal with it because he would not give an inch if they were gonna take a mile.

Though, Bilbo seemed extremely happy to reward them whenever they did something he approved of; when Kili was kind enough to catch a rabbit for Bilbo when the rest of the company was enjoying a boar, Bilbo helped him relax _and_ combed through his hair with his magic fingers, not pulling once. When he scratched his scalp just right, Kili dropped off into dream land, unable to say anything even with Thorin calling him until Bilbo’s fingers left him entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might finish this one some day. I really liked it.


	3. Seed of Oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet ANOTHER kink meme fill unfinished. I actually might come back to this one after Children of Mine is finished, because I really liked the plot behind it.

He’s barely managed to get into the valley itself when he feels his hair breaking off.

Quicky, Bilbo catches the strand and whispers soothing words as he holds tight to the tiny seed in his hands. He looks around and can’t even give the Elves of Rivendell an explanation before he finds a nice small patch of secluded garden beneath a large oak tree. He practically ran over, dropping everything, and dug into the Earth. Once he’d made a decent sized hole, he dropped the seed in and quickly covered it with the dirt and soil. Grabbing his water skin, he poured nearly half of it over the patch before sitting back, terrified but relieved.

Lord Elrond himself came over, concerned for Bilbo Baggins, one they had come to consider Elf-Friend.

“Is there a reason why you had to plant that seed at such a time?” he asked instead, however, curious.

“Yes… Yes.” Bilbo sighed deeply, and then looked up at Lord Elrond, shaking his head. “It’s… She’s the last I have of the Dwarves of Erebor.”

“She?”

Bilbo just smiled and shook his head. Stripes would have meant a boy. Spots… Spots meant it was a girl. Oh, she would be so lovely, he could picture her now. A beautiful girl with her other father’s hair and maybe even his nose. Bilbo took a deep breath and fought back tears. She would never even get to know her other father, especially after the idiot went and got himself killed! And Bilbo hadn’t even been able to stay to see him- his- he couldn’t even stay. The banishment still stood.

“I- we can’t leave now,” Bilbo stated abruptly, standing. Lord Elrond smiled a confused smile.

“Well, of course, you’ve only just arrived,” he replied.

“No, it’s not that. Hobbits don’t-” Bilbo stopped and took a breath. Remembering he was going to be a father and at the same time thinking he already may have lost his child was making him a bit dizzy. “Our children can’t leave until they’ve reached their tween years. Some not until they’re adults.”

“Children? Master Bilbo, you’ve not a child with you!” Now the Elf-Lord was downright baffled.

Bilbo looked down at the patch of Earth the seed was buried beneath, and simply shook his head. “She’s here with us. She will be.” And he clung to that bit of hope **.**


	4. Friends and Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was just a "what-if" I thought up while thinking of Bilbo's and Lobelia's relationship.

When he was seventeen, Little Lobelia was just turning eight, and looked to be the most adorable thing in all the Shire. Bilbo had been absolutely fascinated with her cuteness; he was often the first one volunteering to help Peony Bracegirdle take care of the tiny fauntling. She wasn’t as taken with him as he was with her, but for different reasons than Bilbo assumed. Like himself, Lobelia was an only child, and she had spent her time watching how her friends and cousins acted toward their older siblings. Figuring that was how she was supposed to act as well, she did so, unwittingly treating Bilbo like a big brother.

They became as close as such, spending long days cloud watching or making paper dolls together. Lobelia would never admit it to anyone (except her dolls and her mother of course) but big cousin Bilbo was the best big cousin ever, and he was the greatest big brother in all of Hobbiton (and maybe even all of the Shire too). When her parents had to leave for business in Bree, Little Lobelia stayed with Aunty Bella and Uncle Bungo and big cousin Bilbo, who all treated her like their own.

When he was just turning thirty-three, Little Lobelia was twenty-four and had become Loose-Lipped Lobelia, who always tattled on Bilbo about this or that. She was often saying things like “Uncle Bungo, Bilbo skipped curfew” or “Aunty Bella, Bilbo didn’t finish his peas.” It annoyed Bilbo greatly, of course, but she was still his Little Lobelia Bracegirdle, the cutest fauntling in all of the Shire. Even when she was thirty-three, a full grown adult, he always saw her as his little sister.

When Bilbo was forty-three, Lobelia (no longer “Little” but still a bit loose-lipped) was thirty-four, and they had a falling out. Bilbo’s most disliked cousin, Otho, had asked for Lobelia’s hand and, even after Bilbo had begged her to say no because Otho simply was not good for her (“He’ll _poison_ you, Lobelia!”), she had said yes. Otho had driven a wedge further between them by filling Lobelia’s ears with lies about her big cousin.

When Bilbo was forty-four, he celebrated his birthday alone for the very first time, without his little sister or parents. And he spent the day reminiscing and asking himself when his Little Lobelia had become Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. He wondered when he had become her enemy, and he wondered where the days of them being brother and sister, together, side by side, had gone.

When Bilbo was fifty, Lobelia was forty-one, and he left only her and Old Gaffer Gamgee letters about his leaving. Of course the entire Shire saw him run off the morning after the Dwarves appeared in his home the night before, but only one shout of his name had made him look back, just briefly, to see the only person he would have been willing to say goodbye to.

And somehow, that last glimpse was not of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, nor was it of Lobelia Bracegirdle or even Loose-Lipped Lobelia. It was of Little Lobelia, adorable and young and looking concerned for his life for the first time in the seven years that they had not spoken to each other.

And that was the image he kept with him throughout the entire quest, the only thing that kept him moving forward most days instead of just turning back. It’s Little Lobelia who makes him trick trolls; Little Lobelia who has him riddling in dark caves; Little Lobelia who has him stepping before the Pale Orc; Little Lobelia who makes him face down a fire breathing Dragon. It’s all Little Lobelia, with her perfect little curls and her tongue sticking out at him as she runs through a field of daisies.

When he returned to the Shire, a year later, maybe a little worse for wear and thinner than he had been when he left, it’s to Little Lobelia holding off her own husband from taking his smial. It’s Little Lobelia who’s informing him of Frodo Baggins, orphaned and alone, and it’s Little Lobelia who’s helping him raise a child.

There are some days, when Lobelia has to be Lobelia Sackville-Baggins for her husband and son, but most days, she’s just Lobelia for Bilbo and, eventually, young Frodo. Bilbo had come to terms that Little Lobelia was gone, but Lobelia (even if she never told him) would always have her Big Cousin Bilbo.


	5. Avatar AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Bagginshield story. If I get positive feedback on this prologue (or even if I don't lol) I'll post the first chapter I'm working on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title; TBA  
> Plot; Long ago, Avatar Thorin severed his ties with the Elves. In doing so, he sent the world into chaos.  
> Characters; Bilbo, Thorin, Gandalf, the Company, Bilbo's parents (in useful flashbacks), Elves, Men
> 
> It's a work in progress, so this chapter is really rough and tumble

Long ago, there were four elements. Each one lived together in harmony; Water with Fire, Earth with Air. Peace was achieved between everyone, due to the Avatar. Even races of beings, such as Elves, Men, and Dwarves, were able to get along. The Avatar had the ability to incite peace amongst the people. They called for justice and kept the world balanced, fair. Nothing could change the course of history the Avatar set.

Except the Avatar himself.

Everything changed when the Dragon Smaug attacked one of the Great Earth Kingdoms of Dwarves, Erebor. The new Avatar, an Earthbender named Thorin who happened to be Prince, had not mastered the other elements. Though his power against the fire drake proved great, it was not enough. He called upon the Elves, great Waterbenders as they were, but was denied their help when he needed it. Though it took many days, Thorin, with the help of his kin, was able to slay the beast.

But it was merely the beginning of a World without balance.

In denying the Avatar help with defending his home, the Elves cut ties with the Dwarves. Water was no longer in balance with Earth. Other races of beings began to side with either Elves or Dwarves, and soon, the careful threading of control between nations was cut. It was only a matter of time before the wars began.

Only the Avatar, once he’d mastered all four elements, could stop them. But Thorin would not master Water, not when the only ones he knew of to be able to teach him had been so cruel to him and his kin. In his eyes, the benders of Water were not the kind, helpful folk he thought them to be. And in turn he thought of Water itself as being an element that did not need his attention. He neglected to learn it. And so the world was in chaos.

The Valar, seeing what their hard work had become, sent Gandalf the Grey to try to help Thorin see reason. But he would not yield. And so Gandalf left the Dwarf kingdom, vowing to return once he had found a suitable Waterbending teacher that could help Thorin see the err in his ways.

A hundred years went by and though Gandalf would show up in Erebor time and time again, it was always without a teacher for Thorin. Deeming that the Air bending wizard would never find a teacher for himself, Thorin continued his life, never once concerning himself with Waterbending.

Until the day the Hobbit arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Positive feedback = First chapter  
> No feedback = First chapter  
> Radical bunnies hell bent on destroying the universe = First chapter
> 
> Nothing shall stop me!


End file.
